Reparations
"I'm just so fucking nervous!"
"Babes, you've got this. I know you can do it. Emma Tullingberry can do anything she God-damn sets her mind to!"
Emma tried to breathe through the nerves, trying to match the rise and fall of her chest with Jodie's as her friend hugged her tight. She knew she was right - all the things she'd done so far, there was just one last task, and then she'd be in, she'd be a member; she'd be able to fuck her first big black cock.
But it wasn't working. She felt as if she might burst into tears any second. Maybe it was just the anticipation, the fact she'd built it up so much in her head; the fact she'd had to wait this long?
"Here, get this down your neck - it'll help take the edge off."
She drained the glass in one gulp, trying to concentrate on the fiery burn in the back of her throat. Anything to distract her from the nerves.
"Now," smiled Jodie, getting up off the sofa and heading for the small bedroom, "let's get you ready for your big night. You're going to fucking love it!"
****
She'd received the message from Mr Clayton personally. Jodie had told her she was a 'lucky little bitch'; no-one ever got the tap from the main man himself, apparently. But was that necessarily a good thing? Emma wasn't quite sure.
What she was sure of, though, was that she was most definitely going to do what it told her.
She was to come to the club, tonight, to undertake her final task. The sheer giddy excitement topped anything she'd felt before, even standing up on that stage, getting awarded her honours degree. Amazing, she thought, how a girl's perspective on what really mattered in life could change.
Aside from coming to the club, it had specified, quite clearly, two things.
Firstly, she was to 'take the pledge', the text of which was attached to the message. She'd gasped out loud when she'd read it. But Jodie had laughed that knowing little laugh of hers, explaining that all the women there, her included, they'd all done the same. She figured it was really just verbalising what she knew, deep down, knew was the truth.
But she also had to give it her own 'spin', to really add something about herself. She'd worked that part out almost as soon as she'd talked to Jodie about it; it was clear to her now, clear there was only one thing she needed to say, to show. It would make good the pledge, actualise it. Just thinking about saying the words out loud made her wet.
The other item - which had been stated very explicitly - was that she should 'dress like she meant it'. Well, Jodie had certainly taken that part to heart.
"There's not much to it."
That was an understatement.
"That's the point, isn't it? You're going to complete your task, to move from recruit to member. You want to dress to impress, don't you?"
Sure. But did that mean so little? She gazed down at the garments Jodie had picked out for her, laid out neatly on her bed. You could have put them flat on a pillow, and there'd still have been room to spare.
A black leather choker, a tiny red top PVC that was basically just a bra, and a pair of flame-red hot pants so small her cheeks would be pretty much bare.
Still, if you wanted to show the world exactly the sort of girl you were, if you were going to a club with the express intention of officially becoming a black man's bitch, then maybe that was all there was to it? And, she had to admit, she'd begun to love dressing like this, dressing to thrill black men, showing off her body. The way they looked at her. There was no attempt to hide the lust, hungry eyes slowly, deliberately drinking her curves in. There were no furtive glances, not like white men, no quick turn away if she caught them looking. No, if anything, they just ate her up with their eyes even more.
It was just so affirming, such validation. She'd always thought you got that from inside yourself; now she wanted it from without, wanted to feel desired like that.
"Jesus, Jodie!" she squealed, squeezing herself into the tiny garment, looking down at herself, "You can see ALL my piercings!"
Jodie just smiled, sat across from her on a chair. Her friend wasn't entirely wrong - the hoops in her nipples were neatly outlined underneath the tiny top. And those hot pants, well. There was a mighty fine camel toe on show there, too. But no, you couldn't see all of them.
"How's it feel?"
Emma did a couple of quick twirls, then experimentally lunged forward a few times. Shit, the look on her face!
"Oh my God!"
Her hands shot up to her face, her cheeks turning a bright red, "It's so tight, it pushes against my clit bar!"
She lunged forward again, her brow creasing up, a sort of pained smile playing across her face.
"Fuck!" she shouted, biting her lower lip, "It's like I'm being fucking played with, each time I move!"
"That a bad thing?" laughed Jodie.
"No! Fuck, though, I might just cum before we get there!"
Maybe, thought Jodie, it was time to go back to see Ray? She'd surely be able to get some sort of frequent flyover discount by now.
"Come on, let's get going," said Jodie, draining her wine glass.
"And, by the way, what do you think of my seamstressing?" she said, trying to suppress the naughty grin wanting to break across her freckled features, "It's my first try, so don't be too harsh..."
"What are you talking about?" said Emma, trying to look down at her butt.
The shocked look on her friend's face was worth all the needle pricks she'd endured.
"Oh, come on!"
****
"How long can it take? It's not a fucking dating site!"
"You've got to find the right one," said Jodie, not looking up from her phone.
"What do you mean, 'the right one'? It's just a mini-cab."
Jodie chuckled as she clicked through the various drivers. A member she might soon be, but Emma still didn't fully get it. At least not yet.
A little triumphant "There!", followed by the click to confirm, and they were set.
Jodie looked up at her friend, admiring the slut-wear she pulled off so well. Emma was looking back at her, bemused.
"Think of everything as 'training'," she explained, "This isn't just about the club. If you really want to be a black man's bitch, there are no 'off' days."
Emma looked bemused.
"Come on," said Jodie, stashing her phone, a wicked little smile playing across her face, "let's go see if we can't get some last minute 'training' in."
****
Paying Your Way
What a complete twat. You didn't have to give a tip, fine, but you did have to at least be civil, recognise it was a fellow human being who was driving you, not some faceless automaton. But no - not even a 'thanks', a 'goodnight', nothing. The man hadn't even looked at him.
What was it about this part of London? Sure, it was well-to-do, but did that mean you didn't even acknowledge your fellow man? Maybe it was just how these suits were, so used to being in charge, so used to ordering the little people about, they didn't even see them as actual living, breathing human beings anymore?
Well, at least that was it. Last fare done, and he could head back, back home, back to the East End. Back to a ready-meal and an empty flat...
Damn, it'd had been over a year now, he realised, one long lonely year without so much of a sniff of the company of the fairer sex. It ground a man down.
He reversed the car into the little cul-de-sac, about to pull it back out onto the main road, to head home, when his phone pinged. He sighed, dog-tired. It had been a long day. Still, you didn't turn a fare down, not if you wanted to keep the lights on, the roof over your head.
He saw the girl, frantically waving at him. He flashed his lights and she started off towards him. No, there were two of them, he saw, two young women.
They crossed the street, heading his way. He could see them a little better now, illuminated a bit more by the sodium-yellow street lamps. They looked like they were clubbers, judging by their dress - or lack thereof. And damn fine looking ones at that. He felt a little smile play across his face; company was good, pretty company even better. He just prayed they didn't just sit, staring at their phones - just a bit of human contact, that's all he wanted.
"Thanks for taking us!" said the little redhead as she piled herself in, "The prices are going crazy tonight!"
He'd always been partial to redheads, and this one was top-drawer, all smiles, pretty freckles, and a lot of curvaceous flesh on show.
"Dub-D's hosting in the East End," he said by way of explanation, adjusting the rear view mirror to get a better look at the girl. She really was fine. Even better - she was smiling a sexy little smile directly at him.
No, come on Nate, he thought, don't be silly. Just 'cos a gorgeous young piece flashes her pearly whites at you, that doesn't mean nothing. She was way out of his league, he knew that; just look at the body on the girl! He almost felt embarrassed; if only they'd have seen him back in his pomp. Sure, he tried to get a bit of exercise when he could, but sitting on your ass all day in a mini-cab wasn't the best way to keep yourself in tip-top shape. Besides, he had at least twenty years on her. Jesus, though, a man could dream.
Her friend clambered herself in next to the redhead. If anything, she was even prettier, all bouncing blonde locks and even more pale white flesh on show. It always amazed him just how little some of these girls nowadays wore on their nights out.
It wasn't like that back in his day. You didn't so much get a flash of cleavage until you'd at least been going steady with a girl for a decent while. How things had changed.
"Where to, ladies?" he said, turning the cab around, looking over his shoulder.
Both of them were practically beaming at him. Were they just happy to be on their night out, or did that mean...? No, he had to stop dreaming. Pretty little white girls like these, they didn't want anything to do with him, a slightly overweight 45 year-old black man. Still, it was nice just to be smiled at like that.
"East End, please," said red, "Do you know Club Rep?"
